A very strange, fantastic world—where each one pursues his own golden bubble, and laughs at his neighbour for doing the same. I have been thinking how a moral Linnæus would classify our race.

Author not traced.

TWO LOVERS

Two lovers by a moss-grown spring:

They leaned soft cheeks together there,

Mingled the dark and sunny hair.

And heard the wooing thrushes sing,

O budding time!

O love’s blest prime!